More than Greed 2: The Hint
by Jo. R
Summary: Is there another reason why Marguerite was so desperate to find the pirates treasure in 'The Pirates Curse?


TITLE: More than Greed: A Hint  
AUTHOR: Jo R.  
CATEGORY: Second in a series; Missing scene/Epilogue: 'The Pirates Curse'. Slight   
Marguerite angst, hint of M/R romance.  
RATING: PG.  
SPOILERS: Knowledge of 'The Pirates Curse' as it's set during and after that episode.  
SUMMARY: Is there another reason why Marguerite was so desperate to find the   
pirates treasure in 'The Pirates Curse'?  
DISCLAIMER: 'Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's The Lost World' and its characters do not   
belong to me. No money is being made and I promise they'll be returned almost   
exactly the way they were when I found 'em.   
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Second in the 'More than Greed' series; another short story.   
Again, I haven't seen many episodes but have read all the spoilers I can find to get the   
facts as right as possible for these stories. And again, this little series is based on one   
of many theories I have to explain some aspects of Marguerite's character.  
  
Please R+R.  
  
=*=  
  
'Giving up' were not words usually included in her vocabulary but Marguerite Krux   
was getting more and more tempted to put them into practise and do it. She had been   
wandering around the jungle for what seemed like hours, searching for and finding no   
trace of the treasure Veronica Layton and Lord John Roxton had taken and hidden   
from her.  
  
She was exhausted but wouldn't stop, no matter how much she might want to.   
Something else drove her on, something other than greed and a desire to surround   
herself with beautiful and valuable things. A deeply buried, carefully hidden secret   
was the true cause of her apparent greed. It wasn't her biggest secret but it was   
certainly the one that meant more to her than any of the others.  
  
It was easier to let them, her fellow explorers, believe she was just greedy, plain and   
simple. Explaining everything would be too painful, too hard, and although she'd   
known them for over a year, Marguerite was yet to know if she could trust them with   
her most important secret. She could trust them with her life, to an extent, but what   
about her heart?   
  
There were times when she was tempted – like the morning before she and Roxton   
had stumbled, almost literally, over the treasure. Now she'd had time to think about it,   
however, she was relieved at the interruption. Opening her heart to someone meant   
opening herself up to the rejection and misery that came with the inevitable ending of   
whatever she allowed begin. Letting Roxton get close to her on the Plateau would   
only create more problems for her to solve when they eventually returned to London.   
  
Besides, how could she trust him – any of them – with her heart if she couldn't trust   
them not to take things from her in the dead of night? Seething, clinging to anger to   
stop herself from slipping into despair, Marguerite continued walking in circles. The   
map she'd 'found' was a fake. She'd known it as soon as the elevator had reached the   
ground but she wasn't about to give Roxton or Veronica the satisfaction of knowing   
they'd successfully duped her – not even for a few minutes.  
No. If she kept looking, if she kept walking around, she would find something   
eventually. They couldn't have carried it too far from the tree house, the treasure   
would have been too heavy for just the two of them to walk a long distance. And it   
wasn't safe in the jungle at the best of times, especially not at night, so she doubted   
either of them would have wanted to be outside longer than necessary.  
  
The treasure had to be somewhere.  
  
Taking a deep breath, she fought back a wave of defeat. She wouldn't give up. She   
*couldn't* give up. There was too much at stake back in London.. She needed to find   
it.  
  
Wiping a frustrated tear from her cheek, her mind worked automatically to squash the   
memories and feelings thinking of London always brought back to her. She squared   
her shoulders and quickened her pace, her keen grey eyes scanning every patch of   
earth.   
  
She would find it if she kept looking. Going back to London without as much   
treasure, jewels and gems as she could carry was not an option.  
  
She wouldn't fail. She'd chose to die first.  
  
=*=  
  
The image was haunting him, even after the escapade was over and all of the other   
inhabitants of the tree house were sleeping soundly. Lord John Roxton had been   
watching from the tree house as Marguerite had wandered around and around,   
covering the same territory over and over again in her fruitless search before   
eventually coming across the pirates looking for the same thing as she was.  
  
It wasn't seeing her with half a dozen guns pointed in her direction or a sword at her   
neck that haunted him still. It was what he had seen before that, what he hadn't shared   
with anyone.  
  
She'd been crying. He watched as she first wiped away one tear as if it were a   
bothersome fly, and had kept on watching her as she started walking again. Only he   
had witnessed her stop to rest against a tree, her shoulders slumping in resignation as   
tear after tear had fallen from her eyes.  
  
She hadn't cried for long, only a minute or two, and she hadn't broken down like a lot   
of women he had encountered would have done. No, within moments, she had   
composed herself and had resumed her search, carefully schooling her features into a   
neutral expression with only a slight trace of annoyance creasing her brow.  
  
It seemingly hadn't bothered her for long. She had been her cool, calm and most   
assuredly collected self when she had crossed path with the pirates and although he'd   
studied her intently, he could see no trace of the tears she had shed earlier on her face   
when he and Veronica had left her at the tree house with their hostage.  
  
Even after the pirates had been taken care of – in her own, unique way – Marguerite   
hadn't seemed as pleased or delighted as he would have expected from someone who   
had been crying just hours earlier over having been unable to find what she was   
looking for. She was smug, certainly, she had saved the day – again, in her own   
unique way – again but she didn't act as relieved as he expected her to.  
  
That evening, she'd been almost subdued. Malone and Challenger had kept the   
conversation going over dinner, sharing news of their own adventures with the pirates   
and Marguerite had made no attempt to join in. She'd barely eaten – Roxton noticed   
these things even if no one else seemed to – and was easily distracted, glancing away   
from the table at the slightest of sounds. If he didn't know better he might have   
thought she wasn't such a sceptic when it came to curses as she had led them to   
believe..  
  
Tossing and turning wasn't getting him anywhere, neither was pondering on the   
mysterious heiress' behaviour but then that was nothing new. She was a complex   
puzzle, and he knew he was still missing a lot of the pieces. One regarding her true   
motives for coming to the Plateau, he was sure.  
  
What was it she had said to Veronica? " And what would you know about my real   
motives?" That was it. Veronica had dismissed it as being another haughty comment   
from the equally as haughty heiress but Roxton wasn't so quick. There was something   
bothering him about the way she'd said it. Her voice had been too sharp to be   
concealed completely by the sarcasm she often tried to hide behind.  
  
With a sigh, he tossed back the bed covers and reached for his trousers, pulling them   
on swiftly. Maybe it was about time he gave the herbal tea Veronica had used on   
Marguerite a try. A cure for insomnia, according to her mother. If that didn't work, he   
didn't know what would.  
  
As he got up and walked as quietly as he could up to the common room of the tree   
house, Roxton was under the mistaken impression he was alone. He moved over to   
the small kitchen area and reached for the kettle, hesitating just as his fingers reached   
their destination.  
  
What was that?  
  
With a skill that came with years of practise, Roxton's gaze scanned the room,   
searching for something – anything – that could explain what his finely honed sense   
of hearing had picked up.  
  
It sounded like whispering. Maybe the wind..?  
  
Creeping towards the balcony, he was careful to avoid the wooden posts that he knew   
from experience would protest and give him away. He carefully put his head around   
the doorway, his eyes widening at who he saw.  
  
Marguerite.  
  
She was clutching something – it looked like a photograph but he couldn't see what it   
was of in the small sliver of moonlight from the crescent mood. She gazed at the   
picture in her hand and then looked up towards the moon, the hand that wasn't holding   
the photograph going to wipe a tear away from her cheek.  
  
She was crying.. Again.. There was no way he'd be able to sleep now, with or without   
the tea.  
  
He moved as close as he dared, straining to hear the words she whispered into the   
night, part of him wanting to go to her and ask what was wrong, the other part   
knowing that if he did he would learn nothing. She would shut him out, turn her back   
on him. If there was one thing he'd learned about the mysterious beauty over the year   
and half they'd been together, it was that Marguerite valued her privacy more than any   
of the jewels she held in such high regard. Gems could make her a fortune but her   
secrets were priceless.  
  
" I'll find you." He watched her murmur to the photograph in her hand. " I won't stop   
until I've got what I need to save you. I promise, Sweetheart. I won't let you down."  
  
'Sweetheart.'  
  
The word – and the tears that accompanied it – created a sharp, stabbing sensation in   
his gut. Jealousy wasn't a feeling he had been used to before coming to the Plateau –   
no woman had intrigued him enough to create the emotion within him. He'd been   
envious before – but only of his brother and not because of someone of the fairer sex.   
  
He felt jealously now, though. Envy towards the person Marguerite obviously had   
cared about, still cared for; jealousy that someone had managed to break through the   
walls she'd built around her heart when he hadn't been able to.  
  
Backing away, unable to stand seeing anymore, Roxton accidentally put one foot   
wrong. The floor creaked beneath his weight and Marguerite spun towards him.   
Cursing inwardly, he moved over to the kettle just as she came inside, hoping she   
wouldn't know he'd been watching her.  
  
" Roxton." Her tone was sharp, almost accusing. " How long have you been there?"  
  
" Not long," the lie sprung unbidden to his lips as he forced himself to smile. The   
photograph, he'd noticed, was nowhere to be seen. " I didn't know anyone else was up,   
I was making myself a cup of tea. Would you like some?"  
  
" No. Thank you." Still eyeing him warily, Marguerite strode past him and neared the   
staircase leading down to her room. She stopped and turned a little, as if she wanted to   
say something. He watched curiously as she debated with herself over something,   
eventually deciding against whatever she'd been about to say and giving him the   
smallest of smiles. " Good night, John. Sleep well."  
  
" Likewise, Marguerite." She was gone before the words were out of his mouth.  
  
Shaking his head, he decided against the tea and sat down in one of the chairs at the   
table, his curiosity piqued. How many times had Marguerite done this before and just   
not been seen? How many nights did she stand on the balcony and talk to herself,   
trying not to cry? Maybe she did it often.. That would explain why she was prone to   
staying in bed until someone went to wake her. If she didn't get to sleep until hours   
after they thought..  
  
His theory was right, he decided as he got up and headed to his own bed. Marguerite   
*was* a puzzle. A complicated, intricate puzzle with dozens of layers and hundreds of   
small pieces – most of them that were yet to be found.  
  
Roxton allowed a small grin to grace his lips as he settled down in his bed once more.   
She was a puzzle all right, and he was determined to be the one to gather the pieces   
and put them together.   
  
He wouldn't give up until his picture of her was complete. Until he knew the real   
Marguerite, the one she tried so hard to keep hidden. He might get burnt in the   
process but that was always a risk when playing with fire, and it was a risk he was   
more than willing to take.  
  
Lord John Roxton, hunter extraordinaire, had never backed down from a challenge.  
  
This was no exception.   
  
=*=  
The End.  
  
Feedback of any and all shapes and sizes would be very much appreciated. 


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